Intersections Between Language and Photography

I hate the photograph today. I hate the photographic image, bound as it is to today by the flat dimension of something past; something that is no more; something that lingers, constantly reinserting itself as a visual reminder of precisely what is lost to/in/by time. Christ our existence is tragic! And that tragedy, in this moment, is wrenching. And heavy. I wonder the weight of a photograph, the heaviness I can barely feel in the palm of my hand?

A visual presence

Do I burden the photograph with emotion?

Or is it that emotion is burdened by the additional weight of the image?

Indeed, the implications of the photograph are exhaustive.

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